OMINOUS PATTERNS


Ominous patterns,
A dreary grey smoke,
Weaves across a vacant sky,
While a stifled city groans
And struggles to stay alive.

Over crowded places,
On the road fast omnibuses,
People in flashy dresses
And dead faces,
A continuous hum of machinery
From a nearby factory,
Sets the rhythm of daily life.

On the pavement
Sits a weary old man
With a hungry look, a hungry stomach,
Tattered clothes, a shrivelled frame,
A raving mouth and outstretched hands,
Begging.
A few feet away,
Dogs and dirty naked children,
In keen competition stray,
For a morsel of forgotten food
From the foodstall nearby,
Where stand the affluent few,
Licking an ice cream cone,
Eating a cheese sandwich
And sipping a cup of hot brown coffee.

As the sky grows darker,
A rumble of thunder
Sends those homely people,
Scurrying back to their abodes,
To a warm food,
And a warm bed,
To lie back and enjoy
The rhythm of the raindrop patter
On the window panes.

The old man sits,
Hands no longer outstretched,
But held over his head,
In a vain attempt
To shelter himself from the rain.
There are no trees in this city,
No roof for this old man:
He waits for the rain to stop,
On the pave ment.

The rain stops,
The night grows cold,
Man and woman,
Lost in the warm depths,
Of a warm bed, a warm room:
Faces lit up by a smile of contentment.

The old man sleeps and shivers,
To the croaking of frogs,
And the howling of dogs:
Water in small rivulets,
Flows around his cold feet,
Weaving patterne on the earth below.

May be he will wake up,
To the heat of the coming day,
To the bustle of feet,
To the sound of omnibuses
Around him,
His hands outstretched,
Once more to wait.
May be he shall lie ,
Stiff and cold as a stone
On the roadside.